Vicodin Vixens Fanmix Fiction
by vicodin-vixens
Summary: Music to ship by. Each with an accompanying fic. We're sure you'll figure this out, but each chapter is a separate track. Warning: Slash! We own nothing but a stack of old vinyl and some dancing shoes.
1. 1 Breakeven

**Breakeven: The Script**

_**What am I supposed to do**_  
_**When the best part of me was always you**_  
_**And what am I supposed to say**_  
_**When I'm all choked up and you're okay**_

_**They say bad things happen for a reason**_  
_**But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding**_

**_****_**

_"We're not friends anymore, House. I'm not sure we ever were."_

You hear him say it in your head, over and over again.

What do you have now, if you don't have him?

It's your fault. All this. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. You need a ride, Wilson's girlfriend dies. A butterfly flaps it's wings, and a tsunami destroys some South Seas island. Fair trade according to God. You wonder who's winning the lottery now because you've lost your only friend.

Equal and opposite. God - 1, House - 0.

Wilson doesn't hold the butterfly responsible. But he can't bear to look at you.

He was (and still is) hurting, and you don't know how to handle that side of him.

All it would have taken, you realize now, is an honest "I'm sorry".

Not an admission of guilt, but a token of sincerity. Something to hold onto, that he can use to reassure himself that you're human. That you care for him.

And you do care. God, do you care. You thought he knew that. He should know that. You shouldn't have to say it.

You couldn't say it.

It's too late now. Even if you did talk to him, he wouldn't believe you.

After all these years, why should he?

He gives and you take. It's the natural order of things. Equal and opposite.

You gave him nothing.

Were he to come back, you know nothing would change.

It would always be this way - him giving and you taking.

He knows this, too. Which is why he's leaving, and while you want to shake him, and demand that he see reason (forgive you), you can't blame him at all.

***

Apparently, everything happens for a reason.

God - 1, House - 0.

You waste hours, days, trying to work out the right action that will bring him back. Equal and opposite. You would do anything, you think, if he would keep you.

_Almost_ anything.

And it's the 'almost' that will keep him away.


	2. 2 Realize

**Realize: Colbie Caillat**

_**But I can't spell it out for you,**__**  
**__**no its never gonna be that simple**__**  
**__**no I can't spell it out for you.**_

_**If you just realized what I just realized**__**  
**__**then we'd be perfect for each other **__**  
**__**then we'd never find another **__**  
**__**Just realized what I just realized**__**  
**__**we'd never have to wonder if **__**  
**__**we missed out on each other now.**_

**_****_**

**House**

God. Everything hurts.

I know I'm not alone in the room because I can feel Wilson's disappointment radiating across the bed.

Despite the lecture I know is coming, I'm so glad he's here I want to cry.

Which makes me want to vomit.

Apparently death makes me sappy.

I open my eyes, and sure enough, there he is, wounded eyes, script pad in hand, telling me I'm an idiot.

Not exactly news, Wilson.

I attempt to defend myself, distracted slightly by how much everything fucking hurts.

He sighs in what sounds like defeat and writes me a script for more painkillers.

Before I can stop myself I tell him "I love you."

And I can't remember ever meaning it more.

Of course, right now I can't remember what comes after 10, or when my birthday is, but that's besides the point.

He misunderstands, and I hurt too much to clarify, but it doesn't matter.

I said it. I meant it.

I'll say it again.

Sometime.

****

**Wilson**

"I love you." you say, as I write you a script for extra painkillers.

I ignore you, just as I ignore the way my stomach does a little flip at your words.

You don't mean them, not really.

And you don't need any more drugs either. The only reason I give them to you is that I can think of nothing else to do, and I hate not being able to help you.

I'm feeling a bitter resentment that you paged Amber.

Why not me?

And of course, I hate myself for feeling that way.

The truth is, I'm secretly glad you called Amber instead.

I'm afraid that I would have panicked, finding you on the floor like that.

I'm also glad that you weren't there to see me break down when they told me, God, I was so worried about you.

"I love you." you said, and your words repeat themselves over and over again in my mind, torturing me.

"I love you." you said.

If only you meant it.


	3. 3 Love The One You're With

**Love The One You're With: Stephen Stills**

Wilson took a long, slow pull of his beer, and regarded House's profile from the corner of his eye. House's attention was focused on the television, giving Wilson proper time to analyze his thoughts.

Something about the lyrics to a song he'd heard while driving home today had gave him cause to think.

**_And if you can't be with the one you love_**  
**_Love the one you're with_**  
**_Love the one you're with_**  
**_Don't be angry, don't be sad_**  
**_Don't sit cryin' over good things you've had_**  
**_There's a girl right next to you_**  
**_And she's just waiting for something you do_**

Okay, well granted House wasn't a girl, but he was right next to Wilson. And so Wilson had begun to wonder...

His relationship with House had lasted longer than 2 marriages and countless girlfriends.

House was the one constant in Wilson's life.

And that was saying something.

Wilson, too, had been there for all the rough spots in House's life (his infarction, his break up with Stacy, Mayfield) and the two of them were closer than any adult male friends had the right to be.

Maybe they should just take it to the next level. Maybe Wilson should just love the one he was with.

He chewed his lower lip as he pondered the thought of loving House.

Until he realized that maybe he already did. Maybe he had all along.

House turned slowly, now aware of Wilson's scrutiny.

"Yeeesss?"

Wilson's brows furrowed and he forced the words through his lips, "I think I might love you."

He braced himself for House's response. Would it be outrage or laughter?

But to his surprise, it was neither. House simply shrugged and returned his gaze back to the basketball game. "I know."

"Wait a sec- what? _You know?_ How could you possibly know? _I_ didn't know." Wilson cried, jumping to his feet and pacing the area behind the couch.

"Obviously. Or you would've waited for a better time other than the playoffs to enlighten me. This smells like sudden epiphany."

Wilson walked around and stood in front of the television, hands on hips. "No. _No_. I refuse to accept that. You can't know something that deeply personal before I even know it myself. You, you, you...." Wilson was so upset he'd begun to stutter. "You don't even _like_ feelings!"

House cocked an eyebrow, and Wilson had the common sense to look slightly embarrassed. "What I mean is, you barely believe in them! You treat them like conspiracy theories; interesting ideas, yet ultimately laughable!"

House smiled sweetly. "But if I had a heart, it would beat only for you."

"Shut up. Besides, I could have meant I love you as a friend, or a brother...."

"But you don't. You love me in a hot-and-sweaty-between-the-sheets-I'd-sleep-in-your-wet-spot kind of a way. And you're blocking the TV."

Not bothering to deny it, Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "And this is it? _This_ is your reaction? I tell you I love you and you say I'm blocking the TV!?"

"You need more?"

"I need _something!_"

House sighed. "Fine." He stood up and took a step toward Wilson, who flinched, anticipating.......he wasn't sure what.

Certainly not what he got.

House grabbed him by the lapels, yanked him closer and gave him a forceful, but slightly awkward kiss. Wilson was too stunned to reciprocate.

House pulled back and gave him a critical look. "We'll improve on that later. Now, will you sit down and shut up? I've got a hundred bucks riding on this game."

Wilson sat. But he didn't quite shut up. After about five minutes, once he'd recovered from the shock enough to speak, he glanced over at House again. "_How_ did you know?"

House didn't bother turning his head. "Easy."

"_Well?_"

"You're you, and I'm me. Now shut up."


	4. 4 Need You Now

**Need You Now: Lady Antebellum**

_**Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door**_  
_**Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before**_  
_**And I wonder if I ever cross your mind**_  
_**For me it happens all the time**_

_**It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk**_  
_**And I need you now**_  
_**Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now**_  
_**And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now**_

House drained his glass, set it on the piano-top and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He took a glance around his apartment.

Empty.

Alone.

And that was how he wanted it.

That's what he'd told Wilson, anyway.

At the time, House had even believed it. Now though, he wasn't so sure.

He let his fingers drift over the smooth surface of the piano keys until they found their familiar rhythm and started to play. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander.

Wilson, as a roommate, was a pain in the ass.

He came into House's little sanctuary and turned everything on it's ear.

He was up early. Too damn early for House to be up, in any case.

He practically invaded both the bathroom _and_ the kitchen with products and gadgets that House had never even heard of.

He slept on House's couch. And he snored.

He tidied up so that House could never find what he was looking for.

He nagged.

It was worse than having a goddamned _wife_.

But if House was going to be completely honest with himself, having Wilson as an extended house-guest had also had it's advantages.

He cooked.

My god, could he cook. In the 3 months that Wilson had been there, House had never eaten better.

He cleaned.

Even when frustrated with House's 'inability' to do so, Wilson would clean up after him.

He smelled good.

House had never really noticed that, until Wilson had moved in.

And House could pull all the childish pranks he wanted to, without ever having to worry that he'd pushed Wilson too far.

It had been..._fun_.

As much as House hated to admit it, he missed Wilson's company.

He missed the evenings after work spent in companionable silence (or laughter, depending on what the situation warranted).

He missed having someone waiting for him at night, or having coffee ready for him in the mornings.

House poured himself another drink, then thought the better of it.

He reached for the phone instead.


End file.
